


Petty and Painful

by someonestolemyshoes



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Angst, But mostly angst, Eremika - Freeform, Fluff, Gen, Illness, Sickness, sick!mikasa
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-18
Updated: 2015-05-24
Packaged: 2018-03-31 04:16:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3964066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/someonestolemyshoes/pseuds/someonestolemyshoes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"She’d never have thought, all those weeks ago when she’d first awoken with vomit on the pillows and a night missing from her memory, that she’d be listless and bedridden by the turn of the month."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Mikasa is literally sick which is rare( not the "I'm fine it's nothing" sick ), she's not able to do nothing. she'll cry only for wanting her own parents to take care of her thanks to the nightmares. Like she's hiding her illness but it’s just so bad she can’t help but think she’s dying. It makes her so homesick for her parents she can’t help but cry, and she won't cooperate with Eren which is the only who literally can handle her in that state.

She’d never have thought, all those weeks ago when she’d first awoken with vomit on the pillows and a night missing from her memory, that she’d be listless and bedridden by the turn of the month. 

It’d started with weakness; with aches in her joints and rasps of her breath and even tasks as small as climbing the stairs had made her head spin. But she’d pushed on, because she’s Mikasa Ackerman and it’d take more than a petty flu to bring her to her knees.

The shivering came next.

The military issue jackets did nothing to keep the cold at bay, and even the cloaks – made from the finest material the survey corps had to offer – weren’t enough to warm her through. She’d curled into the thin bed sheets each night, wrapped herself up in them until they’d fit her like a second skin and still she couldn’t chase the chill from her bones. She shook and trembled and fell into a fitful sleep night after night after night, and when each new morning came she’d wake, cold and clammy and drenched in sweat.  

She hadn’t thought all that much of the headaches when they’d first made themselves apparent, either. A bi-product of busy days and restless nights. They’d started off as a soft thumping between her eyes, but as the days drew on they’d spread; out and back, filling the space between her ears until she was struggling to think through the pain.

From what she can remember of that first night, she’d passed out a little after midnight. She remembers, vaguely, taking medication to dull the pain, just enough to let her  _sleep_ , despite the cold and the aches she couldn’t seem to shift, and she  _thinks_  she remembers getting into bed, but beyond that there’s nothing until the following morning.

Her cheek was wet. That was the first thing she noticed.

And then came the rancid, burning taste on the back of her tongue when she’d swallowed, and she’d blinked her eyes open through the pain in her skull to see what little of last night’s dinner she’d managed to force down staring back at her from the pillows.  

It’d been early, the morning light filtering through the window thin and tired and grey, and she’d stripped and re-made her bed before anyone else had woken. She tried not to think about it; about the half-digested food she was cleaning from her own sheets, about her inability to remember where her night had gone, about the pounding in her head and the hollowness in her gut.

Things did not get better.

In the week that followed, the shivers got worse and the aches and pains mounted until waking in the morning was almost too much effort. She felt nauseous all the time; each swing of the maneuver gear made her stomach roll and her tongue tremor and on more than one occasion she had to pause on a tree branch, or behind a derelict building to retch until her whole frame shook and her knees gave out.

She began skipping nightly meals, too; afraid of being unable to hold them down when she finally relaxed into sleep.

But she coped. She went on, day after day, doing chores and training and missions and she was  _drained_. She was losing weight; gut concave, ribs and hips peaking beneath her skin, cheeks hollow and eyes sunken.

And then the nightmares began.

It was Sasha that shook her awake. Bed-warmed hands pressed into the damp skin of her shoulders, nudging her until her eyes flew open, breath heaving and panting and her cheeks wet with sweat and tears.

She pushed herself back into the mattress and pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes. Everyone was dead. Eren, Armin, Sasha, Jean, Connie,  _everyone_  and there was  _nothing_ she could do because the ache in her joints was too much, the pain in her head and the sting in her gut held her fast while her friends, her  _family_  dropped like flies around her. Ripped to shreds by the monsters they were trained to kill.

The next thing she knew, a new, more calloused hand had gripped one arm and a set of cool fingers squeezed at one wrist, pulling the bones away from her face but she shook and trembled and pushed the new body away, scooting up and back against the wall and tucking her knees to her chest.

“Mikasa,” Eren breathed, taking both of her hands and pushing them down onto the mattress. “Take a breath. What’s going on?”

She sucked in a lungful of air and shuddered out a sob. Her stomach rolled and heaved and she scrambled to the edge of the bed to gag, but a pair of arms scooped her up from the bed and when she landed back on solid ground, she was on the cold tile floor of the bathroom. Eren pulled her cropped hair away from her cheeks and splayed a palm over the space between her shoulder blades and he waited, quiet and patient, while her gut clenched and tried to force out food she had not eaten and water she had no drank. She heaved, dry and hacking, until she had no strength left and she slumped back against Erens’ chest.  

“You need to see a doctor, Mika,” Eren said, pressing his face into her hair. “You’ve been off for weeks now.” She shook her head and prised herself away from him, body shivering from head to toe.

“I want to go  _home_ , Eren,” she breathed. She curled in on herself once more, wrapped her arms around her knees and pressed her head against them. “I’m so tired. I want to go home.”

Eren slipped his arms around her and pressed her to him, tucking her head under his chin.

“My head hurts,” she whispered, “my  _everything_  hurts and I just want to go home.”

“I know,” Eren said. He knocked his chin to the crown of her head and smoothed a hand down her arm. “But you  _are_  home. This is home.”

She shook her head and fisted the fabric of his shirt. The edges of her vision were black and spotted and the darkness peeled in until she could see nothing but a tunnel of bathroom tiles, fuzzy and shimmering, and the fingers Eren brushed over her cheek to catch the tears that fell.

“ _Please_ ,” she breathed and her voice trembled, “please take me home. Please.”

**

“How long will she be out for?”

Mikasa swallowed around the cotton on her tongue and blinked her eyes open. She was in the med-bay, a needle in one arm and a crowd of people huddled by the side of her bed. None of them were looking her way; all eyes were focused on Hange, who scratched the back of her neck and shrugged a shoulder at Levi.

“They’re saying months,” she said. “For now, all they can do is keep her hydrated and pump her full of meds to stave off the pain and the nausea. Until they find out what’s causing it, there’s nothing they can do to fix it.”

“We can’t afford to have her out of commission,” Levi grumbled, folding his arms. Hange brushed a hand over his elbow and shook her head.

“There’s nothing more we can do. Just gotta wait it out.”

“She’s the best of the new recruits,” Levi said. “The fuck are we going to do now?”

“ _She_  has a name, and Mikasa is more than just a weapon,  _Captain_ ,” Eren hissed.

“Watch it, Jaeger. Taking your anger out on me will do her no good.”

Mikasa rolled her neck and blinked. The pain in her head was the dullest it’d been in weeks; her system had been drowned in medication strong enough to addle her brain function, and though it meant every movement she tried to make was clumsy and sluggish, it was relief at least.

Eren was sitting beside the bed, hands fists atop his knees, and Armin stood behind him with his arms folded, his gaze furrowed and passing between Eren and Levi. Sasha and Connie and Jean hovered off to one side, watching the altercation with varying degrees of interest and alarm and Hange was squeezing her hand against Levi’s elbow.

“Give him a break,” she said, and Levi frowned over at her, then relaxed his shoulders and turned away.

Mikasa swallowed again and almost choked on the dryness of her throat. Water, she needed water. It was a simple task, in theory; open her mouth and  _ask_  for it. But it took every ounce of concentration she had to so much as grunt and when she finally did, all eyes whipped her way and Eren’s fingers found hers atop the bedspread.

“How you feeling?” He asked, wide-eyed and breath baited and Mikasa squeezed her throat to make words but all that came out was a hoarse, slow groan and Eren squeezed her hand tighter. “Mika?”

“Drink,” she choked, swallowing dry air and coughing around it. Armin poured water from a jug by the bedside into a glass and Eren helped her sit up enough to drink it. Every muscle burned with the exertion and when she’d sipped until her throat was coated she collapsed back against the pillows and sucked in a few heavy breaths.

“’M tired,” she hummed, pressed her head back into the pillows. Eren slipped up onto the mattress at her hip and brushed a lock of hair from her face.

“You’re on a  _lot_  of drugs,” he said, hitching one corner of his mouth a little further up his cheek.

“How’s it feel, being baked in front of your superiors?” Connie piped up from the back of the group. Sasha elbowed him in the ribs and Jean cuffed the back of his head but Mikasa managed a lazy smile and pulled her fist into a thumbs up.

“Pretty damn good,” she wheezed, and Eren let out a breathy chuckle. “I’m really tired.”

“Get some sleep, stupid,” he said, voice calm and quiet and Mikasa sighed, closing her eyes and sinking her bones into the scratchy sheets. “We’ll still be here when you wake up.”


	2. Chapter 2

The first time she finds herself wandering the halls in the middle of the day in nothing but a nightgown, sweat-greased hair clinging to her cheeks and her eyes glazed from the fever, it isn’t entirely by choice. 

The nightmares pull at the fibres of her mind, snarling and snapping and vicious and she tosses the sheets from her frame in a fear-induced haze, feet rolling out and knees quaking as she bears her full weight against the cold floor for the first time in months. She isn’t all that aware as she stumbles from the room, the last tendrils of the dream clinging to her, wrapping around her chest and squeezing the air from her lungs. 

Splinters from the wood floor dig into the skin between her toes, and she’s dimly alert to each spelk burrowing deeper into her flesh as she stumbles her way through the corridor. Voices call out, and a cold, calloused hand clasps at her forearm but she wrenches herself free of it’s grasp, staggering until her shoulder scrapes over the wall. Hange’s face swims in the edge of her vision, mouth morphing open, grotesquely wide and full of teeth and tongues and Mikasa blinks against her raging fever and blunders on. 

She trips over her own toes every other step and the wasting muscles in her thighs and calves burn and ache, and the walk from the med bay to the sleeping quarters takes what feels like a lifetime. 

When she pushes the door, four figures rise hurriedly from the beds, and one invades her personal space before she can really register what’s happening, his hands coming up at either side of her face, fingers feeding her greasy hair behind her ears and palms cupping her cheeks. 

“You okay?” says Eren, and the last threads of the nightmare release their hold. Her knees shake and give, and Eren catches her beneath her arms and hauls her up and over to his bed. She curls onto one side when she hits the mattress, the sinews of her neck tensed and protruding as she strains her head against the molten heat in her gut and the aches and pains wracking her frame. 

Eren’s fingertips scrape against her scalp and she sighs, warm breath billowing out over the pillowcase, and lets her eyes fall shut once more. 

* * *

The first time Eren opens the bedroom door to find her already curled in his sheets, her back propped against the wall and her eyes more alert than they have been in weeks, she is a little tired and little feverish, but mostly hungry. 

It takes some persuading; some soft smiles and gentle kisses and she concedes to let Eren check her temperature twice over, but eventually he sneaks back into the kitchen and warms a bowl of soup and some bread for her. 

They sit on the bed, Eren opposite her with his feet tucked under him, and Mikasa with her legs folded, the bowl rested in the crevice of her lap, and they talk. Eren updates her on the who’s and what’s and why’s that have developed over the months she’s been burning in the med-bay, and she in turn tells him about her dreams and nightmares and he stares at her for a long while, then braces his knuckles on the mattress and leans over the space between them to brush his lips over her hairline. 

She drops the spoon back into her half-eaten soup, furious at the waste and at her inability to eat the smallest of meals without her gut bloating uncomfortably, shrunken and useless from months spent barely ingesting anything at all. 

Eren says, “baby steps, Mika,” and he puts the bowl on his bedside table and curls beside her, pulls her to lean against his chest and rests his chin atop her head. “Doesn’t matter if it takes a little while, just focus on getting better.” 

* * *

The first time she relapses, falls down a staircase as the fever rears it’s head and her brain swells inside her skull, Eren is terrified. 

He sits by the bed for days, one of her pale, clammy hands clasped in both of his, and he trails his gaze over the sheets. She is  _tiny;_  muscles wasted, chest flattening, stomach concave above her peeking hips. She is nothing but skin and bone and heat, and he can’t remember a time he’s ever been more afraid. The thought of losing her, having her taken by this sickness of all things, makes him ache in ways he’s never ached before, and he pulls her knuckles to his mouth and rests his lips on them as he watches her. 

She is conscious, barely, and beneath the pains in her head and the gnawing in her gut and the burning in her chest, she is disappointed. Disappointed, because for the million baby steps she’s taken over the last couple of months, this is one titan-leap back and it’s exhausting to think of working her way to the top again. 

Everything is exhausting, so she sleeps. 

* * *

The second time she finds herself wandering the halls in the middle of the day, dressed in a long skirt and a casual shirt, her hair reaching past her shoulders and pulled up into a ponytail, it is entirely by choice. 

She tiptoes down the hall, pauses at the end of the corridor and presses her back to the wall as she listens to Levi and Hange bicker around the corner, and jogs the rest of the way to the sleeping quarters. 

It tires her, and she takes a moment to catch her breath outside the door to the bedroom. Her legs burn, but it’s a good feeling; exerting herself is becoming less disheartening and more encouraging as time goes on. She is still small, much of the muscle built up over years of military training and combat still missing from her bones, and her joints still jut out against her skin, but she is starting to fill out once more. 

She knocks on the door and peers in, and Eren glares up at her as he lays a playing card face-down on the floor and says, “seven.” 

“Bullshit,” says Jean, and Eren takes his eyes off Mikasa to shoot a smug grin across the room at Jean, where he’s leaning off the edge of the mattress with his cards fanned in one hand, and he flips his card face-up, a red seven of hearts shining in the sunlight. Eren shoves the whole pile in Jeans direction and heaves himself to his feet. 

“You,” he says, pointing an accusing finger at Mikasa’s chest, “are supposed to be resting.” 

She catches his hand in both of hers and the corner of her mouth pulls up in a grin. 

“I know,” she says, “but I wasn’t tired, and you’ve been busy with Hange’s experiments all week. I’ve barely seen you.”

Eren fumbles his hand to lace his fingers with hers. 

“I know, I’m sorry.” 

She steps all the way into his personal space and he knocks his forehead to hers. 

“Still, you should be in bed.” His voice is low, a little dry and a little shallow, and Mikasa curls an arm around his waist and fists her fingers into the back of his shirt. Eren’s spare hands presses to her hip and he sighs at the feel of her breath, warm and  _alive_  against his lips. 

“I  _should_  be.” She pulls away and skirts around him, scurrying over Armin’s outstretched legs and settling on Eren’s mattress. “But the med-bay sheets are scratchy, and the mattress is lumpy,” she leans back into his pillows and sighs, “and I’d much rather be here.” 

Eren gives her a look, brows furrowed as he weighs up his options and Mikasa gives a near-imperceptible pout of her lip, and Eren hangs his head in defeat. 

“Fine,” he says, crawling up beside her and laying his head in her lap. He glances up at her and his eyes flutter closed when her fingers tunnel into his hair. “Fine, but  _tell_  me if you start feeling crappy again, okay?” 

Mikasa nods and hums and scrapes her nails over the nape of his neck, and Eren’s back arcs up from the mattress, just a little, eyes rolling and lids fluttering again. He blinks, wide green eyes staring up at her, and Mikasa leans down and drops a lingering kiss to his lips. Eren reaches a hand up to the back of her head, fingers fumbling around the unfamiliar ponytail until they find purchase in the hair at the back of her neck. 

“Love you,” he hums, quiet and raw against her mouth. She straightens up, back pressed against the pillows, and smooths his fringe back from his forehead. 

“Love you, too.”   
  
He’s still looking at her, and there’s something in his gaze that she’s rarely seen before; it is fragile and worldly and earnest, and it is focused on her, like she is the only thing on the planet that matters in this moment, and it makes her chest tighten and her stomach jump in the most pleasant way.

“Now, if you’re gonna stay here,” he says, and she shakes herself from her own head. Eren’s hand reached up and he taps a finger against the end of her nose, then sits upright and tugs the bed sheets over her legs. “You’re gonna get some damn rest.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Good news for those who liked it...there's a part two! I'll put it up tomorrow probably. This is just a li'l sustenance to see people through until I finally update Thursday's Child...(hopefully today but don't hold your breath) 
> 
> Anyways, thank you for reading!


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